


nobody knows me as well as you do

by grieve



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Post-Episode: e92 Nothing Beside Remains, Post-Masturation Introspection, The Archivist Has Two Hands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:40:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24614668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grieve/pseuds/grieve
Summary: XXX LOCAL ARCHIVIST JUST CAN’T KEEP HIS HAND OUT OF HIS PANTS WHILE IMAGINING HIS BOSS!A peek into what befell Jon after his meeting with Elias at the end of MAG 92: Nothing Beside Remains.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Jonathan Sims, Michael/Jonathan Sims (mentioned)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 43





	nobody knows me as well as you do

**Author's Note:**

  * For [benoitmacon (larvae)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/larvae/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Curiouser & Curiouser](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23614942) by [benoitmacon (larvae)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/larvae/pseuds/benoitmacon). 



> _[ here is the plea from my heart to you  
>  nobody knows me as well as you do  
>  you know how hard it is for me to shake the disease  
>  that takes hold of my tongue in situations like these](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jRwtAQ1i8cU)   
>  _

—

The silence of Jon’s too small and cramped office feels more suffocating and all too knowing than usual; as if a hundred pairs of unblinking eyes have roved in their sockets to pinpoint their focus solely onto him for this one particular moment. It is in such omnipresent silence that one finds the Archivist, the ideal image of a voyeurist’s wet dream as he curls a freshly bandaged hand around his cock and thinks of Elias. 

It’s as awkward and uncomfortable as he knew it was going to be, the gauze rubbing roughly against the sensitive skin, but it also provides a relief to the itch that has been festering in the pit of his stomach since the moment Elias touched him. 

(He’d crudely wrapped the gauze around his hand after his and Elias’ impromptu meeting - was it a meeting? In the strictest sense of the word? He supposed it was a meeting of sorts, but it rather felt like something more intimate than what a meeting with your boss should entail.

Nonetheless, he had wrapped his hand in whatever spare gauze he had tucked into some random drawer of his desk once he returned to his office, breath coming in short, hurried bursts as he dug around impatiently. He’d acted on instinct, wrapping fabric around his damaged hand to keep the salve Elias applied from rubbing off. It was a necessity, he told himself as he wrapped the fabric once, twice, thrice around his hand, the gauze would help along the healing process alongside the salve. He felt the ghost of Elias’ touch on his hand as he wound the fabric around, remembering the look in his eyes as he coated Jon’s hand in the salve. His touch was light, and one might even call it tender, if Elias was known for such kindness. 

Then, as if a man possessed, Jon immediately yanked his worn button-up out from his equally worn, if not worse for wear, slacks, and sat down heavily in his chair, peeling back the button of his slacks to shove his newly bandaged hand down in to grab his cock.)

Presently, his cock twitches beneath his hand as he recounts the way Elias took his hand in his, their fingers sliding against one another deftly. He tightens his grip on himself, precome already gathering at the head. Unbidden, a groan starts to crawl its way out of his throat and he promptly shoves three fingers curtly into his mouth to muffle the sound. The sensation of tips of his fingers just barely brushing against the back of his throat are enough to have him jerking his hips up from his chair, hand tightening around his cock. 

Excess spit begins to pool in his mouth, coating his fingers and dripping down his chin obscenely. He imagines Elias' dark eyes on him, tracking his every movement as if he were nothing more than an insect trapped in amber, destined to stay pinned in place for the remainder of knowable time. Involuntarily, another groan bubbles up from his throat, the sound reverberating throughout his entire being. He slides his hand roughly against cock, the fabric of the gauze catching on the head and the resulting sensation is dizzying. 

His breath comes out in shudders again, glasses threatening to slide off his face as he leans his head back and shoves his fingers in impossibly deeper. He stares up at the ceiling of his office, seeing a dozen Eyes with their pupils blown wide staring down at him in his titillated state. He blinks and the Eyes disappear from his vision, the off-white the same as ever with its hairline fracture running the length of it. He forces his own eyes out of focus, imagining the taste of another’s fingers against his tongue. He slides another finger in slowly, spit coating his chin wetly and his cock shining with precome as he slows his strokes, savoring the kiss of the gauze. 

All too soon, he starts to gag on his own fingers and he has to pull them out of his mouth to keep from vomiting. He sits back up, coughing roughly and drags his now free hand across his mouth. His glasses lay skewed on his face, the lens fogged. His throat feels raw in a way that is not entirely uncomfortable and he craves more than his own fingers in his mouth, craves a heavier weight sliding against his tongue. If he’d had any shame left, Jon would be aghast at his own thoughts, the red blush of embarrassment coating his cheeks, but he thinks himself past that now. He knows what he craves is Elias; Elias’ fingers in his mouth, Elias’ cock sliding against his tongue.

He groans aloud, barely caring to stifle the sound as he squeezes a heavy palm around his cock. He imagines Elias’ voice in his ear, telling him to wait, to be patient, to not act rashly, to slow his hand to a tantalizing pace.

Naturally, he finds himself wondering at Elias’ presence in bed, would it be anything like the persona he puts on for the whole of the Institute, the ever clean-cut, all-knowing boss who dedicates a whole day to scheduling? Despite himself, Jon almost laughs out loud at the thought, then, a small voice in the back of his head says quietly –– “ _Wouldn’t it be nice to have Elias’ whole attention for one entire day?_ ” Then –– _“Oh god, am I jealous of Elias’.... scheduling habits??”_ This time, he does bark out a laugh, too loud and sudden for the quiet of the room. He’s entirely too horny to have anymore coherent thoughts, apparently, any blood left to supply his brain has completely traveled south bound and he’s left to moon over Elias like a pathetic, yearning lover. 

As if mocking him for his taste, his cock twitches in his fist, reminding him that he is currently in the process of getting off to Elias, with his dedicated scheduling days and all, exactly like the pathetic, yearning thing he thought himself above. He’s still painfully hard and that is not going to change anytime soon, so with a short, sharp huff through his nose, he closes his eyes and slides his hand against the length of his cock, the gauze quickly unraveling as he speeds his pace. He’s too late to bite off the groan that slips from his mouth, the sound echoing throughout his tiny office like a swansong. Sweat forms at his brow as he leans back in his chair, the aged metal creaking against his weight. His heart thuds too quickly in his chest, threatening to burst out from behind his ribs entirely. Elias’ voice comes to his mind again easily, as if he were perched on his desk this time, guiding Jon’s hand along his cock with a few simple commands. 

_“Stay your pace, Jon, wouldn’t want to disappoint too early,”_

_“Hard and panting is a good look on you, Jon,”_

_“What a divine image you’d make if I were to bend you over your desk, right now, Jon,”_

He feels a familiar prickle at the back of his neck, the rather distinct sense of being Watched. He jerks his head up to look around his office, eyes roving over every nook and cranny before stopping on the door. It’s still firmly shut, locked and undisturbed. So, no one did sneak in after all. He feels relieved and his heart slows its rapid pace, the mortification of getting caught with his hand down his pants in his work office slipping away from his mind in rivulets. He returns to his ministrations, finding that he’s still obviously hard and choosing not to dwell further on what _that_ could possibly mean. 

(If he were of any sounder mind, Jon would have realized that such a distinct sense of being Watched is not all that unfamiliar to him, in fact, it is more familiar to him than anything has been since forth, as familiar to him as the image he sees reflected back at him in mirrored surfaces, the image just a fraction distorted as it shows his mirrored double.)

Jon’s thoughts circle back to the meeting with Elias’, of all that was said and left unsaid, how desperate he was for Elias’ approval and guidance at the tail end of it and he feels embarrassed about _that_ , at least. He hates all the cryptic bullshit surrounding the Archives and their true nature, _his_ true nature, how Elias makes him search for his own answers instead of telling him what exactly it all means straight. No wonder Jon had to seek out other methods, forming bonds with other Entities just to discover his true nature, or whatever Elias wants him to discover. Granted, he didn’t even know if he could still fully trust Michael, let alone take any word of the Spiral’s without any grain of salt, but it’s better than being left to scramble desperately in the dark like an abandoned stray.

The look in Elias’ dark eyes comes to mind as if they were looking directly at each other again, across the expanse of Elias’ desk, and even now, despite himself, Jon squirms under the look, legs spreading of their own accordance. 

Was he… jealous of Michael? Of how close Jon had gotten to the Distortion, of their shared connection? There was no attempt at hiding the disdain in Elias’ gaze as he spoke of Michael nor the scorn dripping from each word when he attempted to curb Jon away from seeking Its affiliation. If he truly was envious, which makes a plethora of unnamed emotions bloom in the heat of Jon’s stomach, then Jon may have a one-up on him, a counterattack to the constant pull Elias has on him. He feels as if he is trapped beneath two opposing pins, held in place by Elias’ omnipresent gaze and Michael’s sharpened, spirochete limbs. Truthfully, it’s not as if this is an entirely unwelcome situation to find himself in, and a deep, dark part of him wants to continue this game between the three of them, to see how far Elias is willing to go. The heat in the pit of his belly expands at the thought of being something so precious to Elias that he would feel something as inane as petty jealousy.

It thrills him, more than he’d like to admit, to be caught between two opposing forces like this, to be _wanted_ enough to be fought over. He can’t touch himself enough with his own two hands and he imagines the hands of both Elias and Michael on him, two humanoid and multiple others not even approaching anything vaguely human. His body is taunt as his hand’s pace quickens, becoming more impatient as images rove through his mind - Elias’ mouth on his, Michael’s knived tongue burrowing into him like an infestation. 

His hand throbs as he twists it against his cock, the still fresh burn making itself known again as pain signals fire off and travel the length of his spinal cord, synapsing with the neurons on the dorsal horn, where eventually they will travel up to the medulla, relaying pain to the rest of his body. He can see the signals as they pass along the webbed pathways of nerves and neurons, as if he was looking at his out body from above, spread out into nothing more than blood vessels and nerves and ganglia lain atop his skeleton. 

The rush of blood behind his ears is deafening, and feels far away from his body and like his skin is stretched too tight over his bones all at once. His hand aches, the back of his shirt is damp with sweat, his breath comes out hitched and loud, stars bloom behind his eyelids from how tightly he has them screwed shut, and he’s never felt better in his entire life. His other hand roams the expanse of his body, touching as much as it can reach without pulling a muscle, but it’s not enough, it’ll never be _enough_. He presses his hand around his throat, digging his palm against his Adam’s apple until he’s gasping, quickly rendering himself lightheaded, which only serves to make him harder, if possible. 

It’s invigorating and frightening all at once, to have his breath coming out in heaves, to have the hair at his temples curling with sweat, to have his hand losing purchase on his cock because he’s so close, all because of Elias and his dark eyes and his sinuous mouth and his guiding hand on Jon’s very being and just, _Elias––_

Jon comes with an almost keening shudder, hand clamped tight around his cock as his feet scramble to find purchase on the scuffed wooden floor below. He’s made an absolute mess of himself and just barely missed his desk. He feels entirely worn out and used past a breaking point, raw and torn open at the seams. Belatedly, he realizes that he’s never come quite as hard as this before, and he feels a flush of shame at what he’d done in his office, at _work_. He doesn’t quite know what to do with himself now, aside from the obvious of catching his breath and winding down from the euphoria. Thankfully, due to his extended stay in the Institute, he’d prior planned and brought a change of clothes to his office. That, at least, was one of the smartest decisions he’s made recently in a string of questionable other decisions.

He feels dizzy as one does after they come down from the heightened peak of orgasm, body slack as he leans back against his chair. He should clean up, should move and peel off the ruined bandaged, should clean his own cum off his still shiny heat damaged hand, should, should, should - the list of things he _should_ do is endless, the demands of whatever bullshit the world deems to have him entangled in at any given time probing against his frontal lobe like an overzealous larva.

Instead, he wonders what Elias would say if he saw him in this state, what cutting remarks he would give about the state of Jon’s person, if he’d offer to help clean him up or leave him to clean his mess on his own like a reprimanded dog. His mind travels idly to Elias’ postcodital behavior, if he’d be the type of stay and pamper or the type to leave in the middle of the night without a second glance back, acting as if nothing was amiss the morning after. 

With a tired groan, Jon shuts down any further thoughts of Elias and his bedside manner, and anymore thoughts of Elias entirely before things become… messier than they already are. He’d already made an embarrassment of himself in his work office over his boss, he can’t afford to dwell on him any further lest he do something irreversible damaging to his image - or lack thereof - like getting caught in his disheveled state by a oblivious intern who’d taken a wrong turn down the wrong hallway and opened the wrong door. 

“It would be just my luck”, He murmurs aloud, the first words he’s spoken since he’d returned to his office, if he forgets the half coherent mumble of Elias’ name against his tongue that he absolutely did not dare to utter aloud. He has to retain some semblance of dignity where he can get it. His head is a jumble of chaos, and he feels the beginnings of a migraine pulsating at his temples, and his hand is painful enough that he has to actively check if the skin is not sloughing away, and the cum is drying on his front in unflattering flakes, and he is _so tired_. 

As if drawn up by an unseen thread, Jon stands and begins to collect himself again, piecing himself back together one movement at a time, tugging off his ruined shirt to change into a still wrinkled, but at least clean, one. He pointedly avoids his gaze in the small, oval mirror set up against one wall of his office as he changes. 

Once he’s decent enough, Jon turns the knob of the door as quietly as he can, opening the door even slower, and peers into the darkened hallway. Satisfied that no one is lurking in the hallway to witness his rumpled state, he slips out of his office and towards the bathroom situated at the end of the hall to further clean himself up as best he can with unscented soap and paper towels.

As the door swings shut behind him, left forgotten in the mess of strewn papers and miscellaneous junk on the Archivist’s desk, the tape recorder shuts off with a quiet, satisfied ‘ _click_ ’.

—

In his office, Elias smiles to himself. Jon is progressing beautifully, and what a show he put on in the sanctity of his office. He slides his fingers together and leans forward to rest his chin on the bridge the digits create. 

“See how eager Jon is for my slightest touch, how it unravels him and brings forth his truest nature, see what madness my touch brings..” His smile widens, and it’s a cruel, vicious thing. He looks like a viper poised to strike its unsuspecting prey hiding in the bush, fangs glistening with potent venom. 

“How could a distorted creature ever hope to compare?”

He addresses no one but himself, his voice echoing throughout his spacious office, the very altar for his own Becoming and perhaps, soon, the altar for his Archivist’s Becoming as well. He knows that he is Heard nonetheless, by whatever contorting creature may be listening in through the cracks in the walls, the slivers in between his dominion and the next. 

He turns his Gaze away from his Archivist, pulling his chin away from his folded hands. He tucks his legs against one another underneath his desk, and turns his Eye out into the ether, placing a hand delicately onto one patch of neatly ironed fabric on his thigh.

**Author's Note:**

> This is actually a oneshot branching off another piece of fanfiction, which is [benoitmacon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/larvae/pseuds/benoitmacon)'s excellent and perfect fic, [Curiouser & Curiouser](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23614942/chapters/56671600), a re-telling of season 3 in which Jon is taken in by the Spiral. It is full of outstanding characterization (for both Jon and Michael, and for their pairing as its own entity), clever story telling, and incredible multimedia work through both auditory and visual aids. This story is crafted with such dedication and love in every inch of it, and I cannot not recommend it enough! They are one of my dearest friends and their fic is one of my favorite pieces of writing… ever, in both terms of fic and other literary works. 
> 
> This particular work is based off chapter 5 of Curiouser & Curiouser, in which Elias and Jon have their meeting and things go a little…wayward for our dear Archivist. This piece takes place after that meeting, but still within the frame of the original fic. This fic can be read as a standalone piece taking place after episode 92: Nothing Beside Remains, but it really reads better if one is familiar with Curiouser & Curiouser. 
> 
> Lastly, many thanks for their read over and subsequent hyping throughout the writing process. It means a lot to me, thank you, dearly; and thank _you_ for reading!


End file.
